


No Rest for the Restless Minds: Fire and Ice

by PaperclippedMime



Series: BeyFae I: The Space Between [1]
Category: Bakuten Shoot Beyblade, Beyblade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperclippedMime/pseuds/PaperclippedMime
Summary: Missing scene from Chapter 3 of "The Bey, The Fae, and the Journey Across the Threshold". Intended to be read after Chapter 3, alongside the main fic.





	No Rest for the Restless Minds: Fire and Ice

Yuriy burst into the main stadium arena and slumped into one of the thousands of empty seats with an aggravated thud. The sound carried across the deserted space, fading in with the dull roar of the ventilation fans. The man slid halfway down the chair, exasperated at himself for being in one of his moods again, but he couldn’t help it. For all the progress that he had made over the past years to get over the fucked up shit that happened to him before and at the Abbey, nothing made his work feel as if for naught quite like being rejected by other people. 

He had thought - had hoped - that he had gotten past that, that he could appreciate the strides that he had made even if he couldn’t please everyone, but clearly it was still something that bothered him. A lot. Because he was trying, really trying, to be nice to people, to take their needs and concerns into consideration, to listen more carefully, to pay attention to others and not just to himself. And he was doing it because he realized that the egocentric dogma fed to them at the Abbey was not only not healthy but self-destructive. And realizing that meant that he fully embraced these new changes in his behavior and was doing it for him as much as he was for the people around him. 

So wow did it hurt when others just took his efforts and threw them back in his face. 

He obviously realized that Denis Fyodorovich had not meant to insult him when he had recoiled from him back in the pool room. But the fear he had witnessed in the eyes of the old Fae was unmistakable. Despite knowing Yuriy for more than a decade, the janitor only needed one look at the entity that was lurking deep within Yuriy - that Yuriy could feel beginning to stir - to completely wipe out all of the good impressions that he ever had of the young man. 

One look at the entity that must have reflected the man’s true nature. 

Yuriy groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. Morozko, that’s what they had called him. Not the Father Frost of children’s New Year festivities, but Morozko, the powerful Fae that roamed the forest and froze to death any and all who came across his path. Morozko, the terrifying, aloof, merciless— 

“Yuriy?”

The young man startled out of his downward spiral. Svetlana walked over to where he was sitting. 

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Huh? Oh, no, not at all.” Yuriy scrambled over one seat, allowing the old woman to take his old one. She had changed into new clothes but the headscarf she was wearing on her head was still the same. 

“I guess that makes us even for today,” Svetlana croaked as she settled into her seat. 

“What do you mean?”

“You interrupted me sitting by myself this morning, so it’s only fair that I get to interrupt you once as well.”

Yuriy chuckled as he recalled how this nonsense had all started. “Yeah, I guess that was kind of my fault, wasn’t it?”

“It was not a ‘fault’,” Svetlana corrected him. “You did a very good thing by approaching me. Chances are I would not have found you four if you did not come to speak to me.”

“Can you only tell someone’s Fae identity if you are holding their hands?” Yuriy asked, recalling their first encounter and all subsequent interactions. 

“That’s certainly the most straightforward way,” Svetlana nodded. “In fact, you can tell most, if not all, things by holding someone’s hand. Things that even Fae magic would not be able to conceal. But in general, most Fae can be read by sight, by their energy, by the way the magic threads interact with them. Most Fae know how to do this, but my abilities have simply grown too weak over the past century.”

“From being trapped in the Human World?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you have been looking for a way back to the Fae World? So that you can restore your magic?” Yuriy asked, carefully, as if stepping on eggshells. 

Svetlana nodded again. 

The two sat in silence for a few moments. Despite the worries still nagging at him, Yuriy felt surprisingly relaxed in the old woman’s presence. 

“Yuriy, I know that things must seem overwhelming to you right now,” Svetlana said. “But should you have things that trouble you, about Fae matters in particular, please know that I am always happy to listen to your concerns.”

The young man snorted. “Is it that easy to tell that something’s bothering me?”

“I suppose,” Svetlana shrugged. “But it’s also quite a natural thing to expect.” She looked at Yuriy. “Morozko’s powers are not the easiest to come into, and I would not be surprised if you were worried about some things along the way.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it,” Yuriy stared out into the empty beystadium. He wasn’t sure if it would be worth it to bring up what was bothering him, considering that the backstory for it all to make sense would take far too long to explain. Besides, it’s not like he was one for baring his soul open for others to see. To make himself so raw, so vulnerable to the stares, ridicule, and criticisms of others - it took strength and energy, and neither of those things was something that he quite had at the moment. 

Still, he appreciated that Svetlana had taken the time to approach him about it. He wasn’t sure why exactly the old woman had taken an interest in the team, and he wondered again if perhaps he was being too trusting. And yet, the woman’s concern was touching and he couldn’t help but be grateful. 

“I don’t know if I am ready to talk about anything yet,” Yuriy started. “I suppose I am just trying to figure things out at the moment. But thank you for the offer to listen.”

“No need to talk if you do not want to,” Svetlana nodded in understanding. “Still, if you do not mind me saying one thing…”

Yuriy waited, prompting her silently. 

“I realize that Morozko may not have… the most favorable reputation among Humans these days,” she picked her words carefully. “But you should know that, for all the colorful prose they may use, the fairy tales that talk of Morozko tend to paint him in a crudely limited manner.”

Yuriy grimaced. “Do you mean the stories where Morozko freezes people to death and strikes fear into the general populace?” 

“Exactly those!” Svetlana said emphatically, a spark of outrage in her tone that caught Yuriy a bit off-guard. “Sure those _are_ things that Morozko has done. But that is by far not who he is - not even a third of his character.”

“Is there much else to winter?” Yuriy asked with the bitter taste of sarcasm in his mouth. “Besides loneliness and death?”

“Yuriy,” Svetlana, her tone half reproach, half pity. “Surely you must realize there is much more to it than that.”

Sitting with his arms crossed and slumped in the chair, Yuriy didn’t care to respond. The winters that he had lived through on the streets of Severodvinsk had _not_ been much more than that. 

“Winter is the opposite of solitude and death.”

The young man scoffed. “How so?”

“Winter may drive people inside their homes, but in doing so it brings them together. Winter may be harsh to those who are not ready for it, but it rewards those who prepare diligently. It is the season that favors and praises hard workers. And it is also the season that nurtures the land.”

“Nurtures?” Yuriy cast Svetlana an incredulous look. “What’s so nurturing about winter? What about summer?”

“In the summer everything may be growing, but in doing so it depletes the earth of energy. In the summer, the land gives, gives, and gives, and everything else just takes, takes, and takes. It is only in the winter that the land may rest, protected by blankets of snow, so that it may replenish its strength. It is only because of winter that everything is able to be reborn in the spring, and the trees, flowers and crops, and the animals and the people who feed off of them, may prosper for the rest of the year.”

Yuriy bit his tongue, at a loss for biting remarks to contradict the old woman. He had not expected such a poetic - and evidently heartfelt - reply. It was true that, despite his childhood, he had always had an affinity toward winter as a season - perhaps, he now realized, for far deeper reasons than he had originally thought - but he had never considered what it really meant to him. What winter really embodied. 

He wasn’t sure if he could come up with a satisfactory answer now but Svetlana’s words had certainly given him food for thought. 

“I can see that you still need more time to think,” as if reading his mind, Svetlana said, getting up. “So I will leave you be for now.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Yuriy bolted up in his seat. “I mean— thank you. For your advice.”

“No need to thank me,” the old woman said reassuringly. “I am always happy to help.”

“Actually,” Yuriy scrambled. “If it’s okay… can I ask one more question?”

“Certainly.” Svetlana sat back down eagerly. “What would you like to know?”

Yuriy paused. He wasn’t sure if this was generally an acceptable question to ask of Fae, but he was suddenly acutely aware that he wanted to - _needed to?_ \- know the answer. 

“Who are you? I mean— which Fae are you?”

Svetlana stared at him for a moment before smiling wistfully. “I suppose it’s not so easy to tell anymore, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Yuriy asked, then realized something. “Wait, we… know each other, don’t we? I mean—” he stumbled, trying to find the right away to express his gut instinct. “It’s not like I actually have any memories of meeting you before but… I guess I just have a feeling that… that at least Morozko knows you.”

His words must have struck a chord because Svetlana answered with a smile wide and warm. 

“Yes, Yuriy, that is true. Morozko and I have been close friends for a long time.”

_That certainly explains why she talks about winter like she does._

“So, would I be able to tell who you were?” Yuriy wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing but he held out his hand to Svetlana. The woman considered his offered hand with an unreadable expression. Yuriy wondered if perhaps he had done something to offend the olden Fae. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if that was appropriate or not…” he was about to take away his hand when Svetlana reached for it with her own, palm facing down. 

“No, you are fine,” her expression was reassuring. “Forgive me. It’s just been a very long time.”

Yuriy wasn’t sure to what she was referring to exactly, but as she nodded, he gingerly took her hand in his. He didn’t have a clue as to how he was supposed to proceed, but he started by calming down his frantic heartbeat, racing with anticipation. He focused on Svetlana’s hand. It was warmer than he had expected, as if he was holding a smoldering piece of coal in his palm. He tried to wrack his brain for any other Fae that were usually associated with Morozko but his human knowledge of fairy tales came up short. Then, slowly, it occurred to him that he was asking the wrong person. 

_Morozko._

As the hum of the fans and everything else faded away, he thought he heard a faint sound of crystalline jingling, like icicles striking against each other on a brisk winter morning. 

_Morozko._

He closed his eyes to concentrate. Images of a forest of frosted trees, white hills, and frozen rivers easily drifted before him, long-forgotten memories of a past that was now also his suddenly rising up to the surface of his subconsciousness. A small hut stood in the middle of the forest, cut wood piled against the side of the house ready for winter, a shed with stores prepared for the season. The hut stood alone, and in this hut lived a man, the ruler of the winter forest. Here, the weather was always cold, and no folk or beast or bird dared to venture in this far, where winter struck down all those who were not prepared for its coming. 

_Morozko._

No folk or beast or bird. Except for one, the one who burned with a fire deep within, the fire which he now held in his hand. Despite the eternal season of the forest, the smell of wheat and sunflowers, of fields of summer, drifted toward him. He reached for the flame, the one that cut through the vicious bite of winter and permeated everything with tender warmth. The fire prickled at his hand with an undeniable familiarity. 

No outsiders ventured into the winter forest. No folk or beast or bird. None except— 

Yuriy snapped his eyes open and stared at Svetlana, taking in a sharp breath. The old woman looked at the man with anticipation. 

“Firebird?” Yuriy asked. 

Svetlana only nodded, looking as if she was about to cry.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Yuriy questioned frantically, letting go of the woman’s hand in the process. _God, look at me, making babushkas cry, nice going._

Svetlana laughed, no tears thankfully spilling down her face. “I am more than okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For recognizing me.”

“But… I guess that was more Morozko than me.”

“But Yuriy, you and Morozko aren’t two different folk. You _are_ Morozko,” she paused. “And you can make anything you want out of the powers that you have.”

“Hmm,” Yuriy wasn’t really sure what to make of that but supposed he just needed to think about it - about a lot of things. He turned back to the old woman. “So, not to ask the obvious question but… you don’t really look like a bird?”

“No, that’s true,” Svetlana giggled. “Most Fae with animal powers are able to shapeshift from human to animal form.”

“What about the fire part?”

Svetlana craned her neck, eyes wide. _Okay now she looks like a bird._

“What about it?” she asked. 

“Your hand feels really warm. And I guess back at VDNH you could control the fire that the zmei shot at you,” Yuriy scratched his chin. “Is that it though? Isn’t Firebird supposed to have feathers bright enough to light up an entire palace or something? Or is that only the stuff of fairy tales?”

It was a few moments before Svetlana finally replied: “Come with me.” The old woman got up and walked down the stairs toward the front rows. Yuriy followed. Once they were at the very front, Svetlana closed her eyes, concentrating briefly, and clapped her hands. The entire arena plunged into darkness. 

A few seconds passed but still Yuriy’s eyes would not adjust to see anything. Then, a faint light began to spread across the room, brighter and brighter, until the entire stadium was filled with a soft low glow. Svetlana had removed her handkerchief, her hair of two braids casting a golden light that illuminated the wide room. 

Yuriy could only stare in awe. A voice deep inside him stirred and settle back down as he recalled the feeling of a similar scene from a time long, long ago. 

The two stood in silence, not feeling the need to fill the space with unnecessary words. Yuriy leaned against the side railing, feeling at peace, somehow not dreading the inevitable coming of winter, as he allowed himself to bask in the warm glow of summer.

 


End file.
